Circles Resurrected: For Amy Shapiro-Espie
The first story of this series is a special one. It was written by Amy Shapiro who, upon my quest to find her personally to receive her permission to reprint, I found led a full life of animal advocacy. Her life seemed devoted to protecting and speaking out for the animals. Sadly, I also found out the the animal world lost Amy Shapiro-Espie just last year. So in honor of her memory and dedication, her story “For Gray Cat” will be the first story that I reprint here.
For Amy Shapiro-Espie; may you rest in peace, finally reunited with your little gray cat.
For Gray Cat
By: Amy Shapiro-Espie
Sunday
A friend and I take our dogs for a run in the park. The afternoon sunlight is pure gold, and a fresh breeze rustles the tall grass. A family approached us on the trail – a man, a woman, and two small boys. They are accompanied by a large tan dog with the distended nipples of motherhood and an adorable pup who looks just like his mom. The pup pesters the older dog, taking five leaping and bouncing steps for every one of hers. She patiently tolerates him.
It’s a heart-warming scene that depresses me deeply.
What has happened to me? I love dogs. I love puppies. And yet the sight of puppies saddens me. Every time I see or hear of a litter of kittens or pups, I can also see the cages full of homeless once and the bins full of dead ones at the shelter.
Monday
Its 8:00P.M., time to go home. I walk past the cages in the Stray Cat Room. A calico cat and her two kittens sit quietly on the shelf in their cage. The mother grooms one of the kittens. A pink card attached to the cage tells me it’s time to say goodbyee to those three. I feel the all-too-familiar mixture of sadness, anger and bitterness, but I try not to let my emotions show. A huddled gray ball of fur catches my eye. In the furthest corner of her cage, a bedraggled cat hides her head under the sheet of newspaper lining her enclosures. I peer between the bar, “Hi, Kitty,” I say softly. “Are you totally miserable? I don’t blame you.” I chatter on, more for my own benefit than for hers. I put some treats into her bowl and leave.
Tuesday
A small, frightened black rabbit is rescued from a cellar by one of our officers. That evening, in a room full of noisy cats, she gives birth to five babies. Four days later, when her stray holding period is over, the babies are injected with sodium pentobarbital. A few seconds later, they are dead. The mother is put up for adoption.
Gray Cat clings to her corner, still facing the wall. I notice that she’s eaten the treats that I left, which encourages me. I talk to her again. “I know it’s hard to believe, but actually you’re pretty lucky. Decent food, a clean litter box, people who care about you – and with a little luck, one special person to appreciate and adore you forever.” Gray Cat was not impressed.
Wednesday
I talk to the people in my dog-training class about spaying and neutering. “Of the more than 10 million dogs and cats who are killed every year at animal shelters in the U.S., nearly 3 million are purebreds,” I explain. “And all the others had a purebred in their recent genetic past. Stand at our front counter any day of the week and you will hear the same stories again and again: ‘We’re moving’; ‘The landlord says no’; ‘He barks and the neighbors call the police’; ‘She messes in the house.’ It doesn’t matter if it’s a purebred; an expensive pet with a problem is just as disposable as an all-American mutt.
“Spend a day at the shelter and you also hear the repertoire of reasons people give for not having their animals spayed or neutered: ‘We want the children to experience the miracle of birth’; ‘Neutering is unnatural’; ‘It’s cruel’; ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to do it to me’; ‘My cat is from champion stock’; ‘We’ve already got homes lined up for all the babies.’ But try to explain these reasons to a loving, beautiful animal – or even an ill-tempered, unlovable one – whose time is up, who is receiving a death sentence when the only crime that has been committed is by a human who allowed the animal to be born, instead of facing the reality of the pet overpopulation disaster. I’ve never heard a rationalization for not neutering or spaying that didn’t just fade into meaninglessness in the face of even just one death.”
After class, one of the dog owners comes over to me. “We were planning to let our dog have just one litter,” he says, “but we had no idea about how bad the situation really is. We’ve decided to have her spayed instead.” I smile. I feel I’ve done a good day’s work.
On my way out, I stop at Gray Cat’s cage again. “Hi, Gray Cat. Still memorizing that bit of wall, I see.” She turns and looks at me. Maybe I’m being too optimistic, but she seems a little less frightened, her body a shade more relaxed. “Listen,” I tell her, “you probably came across some pretty irresponsible humans out there. We’re not all like that. Give us another chance, okay?” She blinks dubiously. This is progress.
Thursday
The animal care technicians at the shelter are the bravest people in the world. I watch them scrub kennels and clean litter boxes. I hear them try to calm frightened animals. I see them take a moment to play with a kitten or hold a lonely pup. And every now and then I force myself to witness what they must face every day. That same dog, who they cared for, petted and talked to must finally be given the only thing we have left to offer: a gentle, respectful death. What have we come to when the best we can do is to kill them kindly?
Jim puts a leash on the Labrador mix. She cowers in the back of the kennel, tail between her legs. He tugs on the leash. She whimpers and crouches down lower. He kneels beside her. “It’s okay, pup. Don’t be scared.” She stops whimpering but won’t move. He scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the Euthanasia Room.
She’s been at the shelter for two weeks. She’s so frightened that all she does is lie in the corner. No one wants her. So now she will die.
Carol holds her while Jim shaves a small patch of fur from one of her front legs. She is quiet and trembling. Jim continues to talk soothingly to her. He gives her the injection. She slumps on the table. Carol carries her body to the “Chill Room” and adds it to the pile.
In the Cat Room, Gray Cat is still in her usual corner, but she’s not facing the wall today. The room is noisy. Adorable kittens fill row upon row of cages. Friendly adult cats come forward, asking for attention. When I open her cage to give her a treat, she tenses a little. “It isn’t fair, “I tell her. “You have every right to distrust people. But if you don’t act “adoptable,” how can you compete with all these other cats?” I reach my hand closer to her. I touch her. She lets me! I thank her.
Friday
At home, someone from a rescue group calls me to find out if I have room for another “unwanted”. A local veterinarian has a young Abyssinian cat. The owners brought him in to be euthanized. Why? They’re moving out of state. They don’t want to take the cat. They haven’t found any friend who will take him, and they don’t want “a bunch of strangers” coming to their house to see the cat.
When I go to work, Gray Cat is not in her cage. I look everywhere. I try not to be too hopeful. I tell myself not to pursue it. I ignore my own good advice. I go to the Chill Room. She is there, in one of the bins, her body curled up against that of a Golden Retriever. I touch her, for the second and last time. Her body is just now growing cold. She is gone. I will mourn her. But who will mourn the calico kitten underneath her, or the Angora rabbit in the next bin? Who will mourn all 10 million of them, one by one?
Saturday
I walk through the auditorium. The children’s humane education group, Critter Crusaders, meets once a week. They are using recently donated video equipment to make public service announcements about pet overpopulation for local TV stations. As I watch them rehearse their lines about the importance of spaying and neutering, I feel hopeful. They won’t forget. They’ll tell their friends what they’ve learned. They’ll grow up to teach their own children. I wish Gray Cat were here to see it.
i too am a animal care technician and yes every day we see this and everyday there is that scared dog or gray cat and my heart breaks everyday. but one thing i learned is that my words my love and two seconds of a butt scratch will never go forgotten by that animal wether dead or alive i will continue to get my heart broken for the sack of loving all those who are unwanted, i want them no matter what